#kittenfishing

What’s in a name, anyway?

Yes, a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.

But do all flowers have to smell sweet?

There are flowers that smell like rot.

You look them up.

The Western Skunk Cabbage. The Carrion Flower. The Dead Horse Arum Lily.

But in those cases, names came after. Assigning a name to a person doesn’t necessarily mean that the person inherently has those traits, or takes on those attributes automatically. Babies are driven purely by urges and are too young to express any defining life-long personality. And people take on new traits as they grow and learn.

You close all the flowers and search for the various explanations of her name’s origins.

Her name is everywhere.

In Latin. Greek. Sanskrit. Tamil.

On your boyfriend’s lips.

Now.

Every day.

When he comes home and raves about how awesome it’s been, working with her.

At this point, it’s almost like a skit that he does.

Your name is arguably everywhere, too, you try to tell yourself. It’s short. It fits in easily. People say it as part of other words. They say it without even meaning to.

But what does your name mean?

You look it up.

A set of articles or equipment needed for a specific purpose.

OK. Maybe it’s not everywhere. Maybe it’s too niche to be everywhere. Maybe that’s your strength?

Her name even sounds pretty. In all the languages that bear it.

And your name sounds like—

“Kitt?”

You let empty space surround it. Isolate it. Let it ring clear.

“Mmh,” you say dully, reflecting your appraisal of the sound.

“Did you hear me?” Taehyung laughs. “I said that the presentation was due in about an hour, and we were nowhere close to being done with the presentation, and then, like magic, she—”

“I heard.”

Your words are starting to sound like your name.

Bored.

Taehyung hates when you’re bored. He hates when you’re bored because he has the tendency to think that it means that you’re bored with him.

He hasn’t learned yet.

That you being bored is a skit of your own.

Meant to hide what you’re really feeling.

“I’m hungry,” you say, before Taehyung can fill the space that you left there, too. “I think I’m craving nachos.”

He grins. “Maybe it’s because I was telling you it was Taco Tuesday!”

“That’s not nachos,” you say, finally tearing your eyes away from your phone, “but now that you say that, I think I want ramen instead.”

Taehyung tilts his head. “Kitt.”

When said like that, it sounds… a little… pretty?

But it has to be said like that.

Gentle. More breath than voice.

Through lips grazing the brown canyons of his blazer, bunched up at his neckline, a thin strip of a dark, flowery, emerald green shirt inside. Soft, black curls hide the corner of his eyes. He’s a nighttime, cliffside sigh.

His eyes widen, patiently, and then, are in full bloom, like the flowers on his shirt.

A smile ticks upward.

“Ugh,” you sigh, getting up from the couch and walking toward your bedroom.

“You’re jealous?” Taehyung squeaks giddily, fast on your heels.

You walk into your closet, squirming as Taehyung grabs, loses, and grabs again to get a hold of you, caging you in canyon brown, each brush of his hands against you prying your mouth more and more open into a laugh.

“Stop!” you pout, diverting squirm energy resources to help fight off the giggles. “I said I was hungry!”

“Man, this must have been torture for you,” Taehyung reflects, as you settle. His folds you in, pinning your arms to the side, resting his forearms against your stomach, just under your breasts. He rests his chin on your shoulder. “Especially this week.” You swivel slightly, left, then right. “I don’t think I’ve stopped talking about work since I got home.”

“Tae,” you whine.

He laughs at you, hugging you tighter. His lips rest against your neck.

“I can’t help it,” you admit. “The thought of you two at work together, spending all that time together.” You slump and frump and prump. “She sounds so cool. And she seems so funny, like, in a really smart way. And she’s so, so pretty.”

Taehyung laughs into your neck. “I knew it!” A small bite. A warm lick. A sweet peck. All in the same spot. “I knew you looked her up.”

“I can’t help it,” you say again. It feels horrible.

“People look people up all the time, Kitt,” Taehyung reminds you.

His hands widen to hold more of you. Slide up and down your sides. “You know how crazy I get when I so much as think of you with anyone else.”

You lean back into him. He cradles you with his chest as you do. “I think about you walking to the train station with her.” You let the back of your head rest in the crook of his accommodating neck. “Just chatting, and smiling.” Your temple hugs his Adam’s apple. “It’s always sunset.”

Taehyung understands. It’s the little things that hurt the most.

“Well, we do walk together, and chat, and smile, and it’s sometimes sunset,” he admits. “But the entire time we do it, I’m counting down the seconds until I get home to you.”

You smile. “Don’t.”

Taehyung chuckles and slides his head forward. You feel the pressure of his jawline and cheek through your hair, against your own cheekbone. His hands slide down your hips, just barely.

“I think about your eyes,” he continues. “It feels good when you light up when you see me.”

You shrug a little, and his arms slide over yours, grazing the cup of your breasts.

“And I think about getting to hear your voice. What fires you put out. What shenanigans you got up to with Yoongi.”

You scoff.

“It’s weird,” Taehyung says brightly, and seriously, “I’m always hearing your voice in my head. Like, when I’m eating lunch, I hear you asking if I think my lunch is good, or like, you telling me that your lunch was terrible?”

“We’re never going back to the cafe that Yoongi and I tried today,” you add. “That food had to have been spoiled. Yoongi and I spent the rest of the day taking turns writing anonymous reviews on their page from Si-hyuk’s computer.”

Taehyung shakes when he laughs.

His shoulders drop as his voice slides into a hum.

His hand slips between your legs.

“Ugh, Tae,” you warn. “I really am hungry!”

“So am I.”

“Tae.”

His hand starts to move in slow circles. “This is what I think about most.”

You sigh through your teeth.

His hand slips into your pants, fingers wiggling under the waistband of your panties. He splits your lips with his forefinger and ring finger. Rubs your clit with his middle.

“Shit,” you whisper.

“You think about me?” he mumbles.

You nod. Your arm stretches up and back, reaching for his cheek. You cup it. Stroke it. Tease it. What your hand does, his does too.

He grunts, length hardening against you. “What do you think about?”

“Ugh,” you whimper, the countless daydreams flipping like pages in a photo album. “Stealing away during lunch. Making out in the stairwell. Fucking you in Si-hyuk’s office.”

“We’ve already fucked in his bedroom,” Taehyung says, and you both laugh.

Your other hand reaches back for his cock, stiffening uncomfortably in his pants.

He grunts when you graze your fingernails smoothly against it.

The fabric doesn’t catch because you’re better about your hangnails.

He slides his full finger between your lips. Grips you harder. Slides up and down.

“Mmm,” you moan.

Taehyung chuckles softly, starting to rub into your curved palm. “Sometimes I think about fucking you from behind in our supply closet. You’re in some short skirt that I push up over your ass. You grip onto the shelves.” He growls. “I spank you.”

You mewl. Almost moan his name.

But then he pulls away.

“Wha—” You whip around, instantly blushing. “You… You—”

Taehyung smirks.

Brings his hand to his lips.

Sucks his middle finger dry.

He purrs.

And then he looks at you. “C’mon,” he says brightly, and seriously, “Thought you said you were hungry!”

He walks back to the living room so casually.

You scowl as he goes.

You spin around to look at your clothes, shaking your head slowly and hating the smirk spreading across your face.

“Dammit.”

When you get home, you hang your top back on its designated hanger, a velvet one that helps protect the delicate lace strands that were just caressing your shoulder enough to let your body shine through.

You notice that it’s quiet.

“Where’s Tannie?” you call out.

“He’s asleep,” he calls back to you.

You walk out of your closet to find Taehyung already in his sweats, having changed during his quick peek into his apartment next door. His hood hangs over his face, but you can see his cheeks from the side, puffed out as he stares at your floor, knee bouncing as he sits on the edge of your bed.

When he looks up to see you, his cheeks deflate into a curious, enamored pout. You smile as you cross the room in just your underwear, reaching into your dresser for pajamas.

“Wait.”

He reaches for your wrist, and you giggle as he pulls you into him, angling you so that you’ll sit on his now still knee.

You move to kiss him, but he turns his head. You’d scoff, if he weren’t also running his hands along the outside of your thigh, hooking the bend between his thumb and forefinger into the back of your knee and pulling your legs across his lap.

You move again to kiss him, lips trying to land on his, when he licks his suddenly and tilts his head away. You’d whine, if he weren’t also staring at your lips as he let his thoughts whir in his mind.

You move yet again to kiss him, your hand reaching for his hood, pulling it down so that your fingers can curl into his tresses and hold him still. But when his droopy, U-shaped eyes meet yours, you freeze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“Something’s wrong.”

Taehyung looks at you, somewhat miffed by your accusation.

“Tell me,” you coax gently, reaching with your other hand to cup his cheek.

He sinks into your touch, head tilting toward you, facing you more head-on.

“That… guy,” he mumbles.

You blink and think of the full pint left at the bar.

“What about him?” you ask.

“You…”

Taehyung clearly hates what he’s about to say next.

“You… liked… him.”

You shrug. “I mean, we just met him? And he seemed nice?” You try to stay focused on Taehyung’s eyes, trying to hold them open, keep them wide and round and soft instead of closed, and closed-off. “It’s not every day that I meet someone who’s seen Metropolis.”

“I’ve seen Metropolis,” Taehyung insists.

“Yeah, because I showed it to you,” you reply.

Taehyung sighs, ready to dump you onto the floor.

“OK, now, hang on,” you say softly, sliding over his lap to straddle him before he does.

He fights a smile after feeling your near-naked crotch meet his, your knees locking firmly in place around his hips, and resting on your mattress.

“This isn’t about Metropolis, is it?” you ask, running your fingertips through his hair at his temples.

He doesn’t answer. But his eyes roll back at your touch.

You press your lips against his right cheek.

“It’s just a phone case. Just a quirky little design.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, your breasts pressing up against him.

“Just a conversation at a bar.”

His voice is muffled by your exposed left shoulder. “He was flirting.”

“I don’t think he was,” you whisper. “And even if he was, I wasn’t.”

Taehyung’s shoulders sink a little. “I know. You would’ve needed his social security number to even think about flirting.”

You smile and open wide, biting his cheek a little, finally making him laugh.

He squeezes your ass in response, nails digging into your flesh and making you let out a soft moan.

“Did you yell at him?” you ask. “Run him off?”

“What, did you want me to nab his driver’s license for you?” he goes on.

“You on some Bonnie and Clyde shit now?”

He hisses as you lick his cheek. “Find out his bank routing number?”

“Oh my god, I don’t steal identities,” you grumble playfully, as Taehyung runs his hands up your back, and then down again, “I just study them. Intensely.” You pull away so that you can look into his eyes. His big, bright, happy eyes. “And only when I really, really care about someone.”

Taehyung grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He picks you up in a flash and lays you down just as swiftly. You bounce up and down on your mattress, laughing as Taehyung nuzzles into you, snorting and grunting and giggling.

You wrap your legs around his waist.

He holds himself above you with one arm, and he runs his free hand over your right knee, moving down your shin, cupping your calf and squeezing it before running back up your thigh.

His hand glides over your smooth, wine-warmed skin. “I’m yours,” you tell him earnestly. “Just yours.”

Taehyung hooks his finger in the band of your panties. Lace, to match your top.

“Good,” he tells you, as he starts to bring that finger down, his nail scratching you slightly as he goes.

You check to make sure that you’ve hung up with Yoongi before asking, “Tae... Is everything OK?”

“No.”

That’s all that he’ll give freely.

You shift uncomfortably, not sure what to do with your hands, the fingers on your left gripping your phone, and your right wrist turning over and over, bones clicking with worry.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

Reading Taehyung’s moods requires crystals, tarot cards, and incense. If so much as one curl of smoke, like the curls of hair around his flaming eyes, is out of place, that dangerous energy will be locked out forever.

You worry that Taehyung will do the same, as he moves from staring at you in the kitchen to threatening to leave through your front door.

“Hey!”

You set your phone down on the counter.

“Where are you going?” you ask, your quick steps clacking in chorus with the metal of your top deadbolt.

Everything falls silent when the door opens.

And when your hand rests on Taehyung’s shoulder, the door stays open.

Taehyung stares out into the hallway, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath. They come out ragged, but they’re meant to soften the swirl of emotions that are whipping through every empty cavity in his body. Through the gaps in his teeth. Through the spaces in his rib cage. The folds of his guts. The chambers of his heart.

"Tae. Please.”

He hangs his head, and you step to his side, the pads of your fingers turning on his shoulder as you swivel around to stand just in front of the still-open door.

“Did I do something?” you ask.

“No.”

The acidity with which it tumbles. Like lemon juice on a cut.

You’re about to ask what you did, and how many times you did it, and why it was wrong, or maybe you should start with apologizing fir—

“You did nothing,” Taehyung goes on.

“Well, so, but, then what are you—”

“That’s it.” Taehyung’s mournful eyes finally look up into yours. “You did nothing. You do nothing. You’re… you’re doing nothing… again.”

At the watershed moment, you’d successfully shed your down, moulted your parrot feathers and stepped back into your true form. Your loud form. With bold, unrefined lines. Zigzagging, yes. But at least moving.

Movement like that is propelled by intention. Your lines may have zigzagged, but you knew that you wanted to go somewhere.

When things become comfortable, like they increasingly are with Taehyung, you find yourself wanting to stay.

When you’re with Taehyung, you want to curl up. You want to take your down and stuff it into pillowcases and duvets that swaddle you both in safety. A small soy sauce stain on some sweater is just as easily washed out with All or Gain or Tide. The only thing that you actually care about is that everything ends Downy soft, and in Taehyung’s arms.

And you care about it so much that you’re starting to lose patience when Taehyung cares about anything else.

“I’m not retreating into my old ways, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you say, as your hand slides off of Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Just have fun with Yoongi tonight, and we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

Yoongi’s name off Taehyung’s lips never sounds exactly right. It has sounded friendly. Fond, even. But never right.

You scowl. “How many times have we been over this?”

“And how many times has Yoongi been over this week?” Taehyung points out, tilting his head.

Today’s Taehyung tarot must have the Judgment card, you decide. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I can. And am.”

“Yoongi and I are like family!” you exclaim, desperately, but also melodically, like a song on heavy radio rotation. “I can’t just cut him out of my life! I can’t just stop seeing him!”

“But when you talk to him, when you’re with him—” Taehyung growls. “God, this is so stupid.”

“You’re telling me!” you sigh.

“Forgive me for continuing to connect those dots,” Taehyung sneers, eyes narrowing. His shoulder shrugs up and extends his arm behind him. “It wasn’t all that long ago that that wall was doing the same exact thing.”

He reaches to pull the door open wider, but you unexpectedly lean back, placing your weight in every varnished grain of wood, and slam it shut. Your upper back props you up, your waist and hips jutting out a little, and your arms folding over each other.

“You’re the one with the problem, so you don’t get to run. You brought it up. You gonna hold this over me forever? Isn’t it what got us to meet in the first place?”

“So, what? I should be thankful for your murder wall? Glad that your weapon of choice is love and not, like, knives?”

“Don’t change the subject. What is it about him that makes you so upset? That he’s nice? Fun? Respects our space? Invites us both to his place for dinner? Brings us both our favorite snacks for game nights and movie nights and—”

“It’s not him, it’s you!” Taehyung cries out. “When you see him, you light up! When you talk about him, you burst! When you talk to him, you explode! You explode, with opinions, and stories, and jokes, and, and—” He throws his hands up in the air, trying to grasp onto something to keep him from falling into this pit of despair that just seems to keep finding him for whatever awful reason. “—and your stupid! Fucking! Watery! Bitter! Arizona! Iced! Teas! The watermelon juice is a superior product! I don’t understand what the goddamn obsession with—”

“Are you insane?” You blink wildly. “Arizona iced teas are iconic! A phenomenon! They defined a whole generation! They’re instant signifiers of whether or not you’ll get along with someone!”

Taehyung scoffs. “So you’re judging a drink based on what it says about your compatibility with others?!”

“It’s a drink that brings people together!” you exclaim. “How can you not see how relevant that is to the cultural value of the drink?”

“Oh, so you and Yoongi are friends because you both like iced tea?”

“Yes,” you stress, “as a matter of fact, it’s a key part of our whole friendship — let me say that again, friendship — because we wouldn’t have had more to talk about at that dumb work party had we not both reached for the last can on the table!”

“Lemme guess — your fingers touched, and there was a spark? Eartha Kitt was playing, your eyes met, and you’ve been in this weird limbo of togetherness ever since??”

“We arm-wrestled for it!” you spit back. “Why are you punishing me for not living up to your standards when you’re the one who’s over-romanticizing! Jesus Christ, Tae, it’s like you live in a fucking Keats poem! I saw a grown man shit in a dumpster on my way to work this morning!”

Taehyung groans and rolls his eyes as he reaches for the door, but your arms unfold and wrap him up.

“No!” you cry out.

“But Tannie!”

“No! You have to see this through!”

You wrestle with each other, limbs tangling with limbs, and when you catch that fold on Taehyung’s cheek turning into a smirk, you know you’ve got him. You hook your arms into his. Your legs into his. And soon, he’s leaning over you, bracing against the door, a little out of breath, and a little nervous about how scrappy and strong you are.

He throws you with how scrappy and strong he can be, too.

“No one’s ever gone this far with me,” Taehyung admits.

His words are no longer acidic, but they’re jarring, just the same.

“I know I burn bright,” he tells you. “And I also know that means that I’m prone to flaming out.”

You run your hands through the curls at his temples.

“Then let’s just make sure that whatever we have has the lifetime of a star,” you say.

Taehyung smiles sweetly. “Hmm. More romantic than I was expecting.”

“Well, I didn’t say I wasn’t romantic.”

“I know. I still have your notes.”

Taehyung steps forward, carrying your melting frame in his, and pressing you against your door.

“Keats isn’t terrible, you know,” Taehyung says quietly.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, grinning.

Taehyung smiles.

“Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art…”

He pours you into a kiss.

He mumbles through the rest, as your lips caress each others’. As his fingers undo your jeans. As your legs hold firm around his waist, and then start to melt like the rest of your body.

“Hurry up,” you pant, squeezing his curls in your fist, his locks as soft as down, “get to the part about my ripening breast.”

Taehyung laughs, as deeply as his long strokes swim inside you. “To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,” he whispers. “Awake for ever in a sweet— fuck!” His rhythm quickens. “Unrest, still, still to hear— mmmph, her tender-taken breath, and so—! Live—! Ever—!”

You squeal as you both come undone, slamming an elbow back against your door, under the spot where he slaps his palm.

When Taehyung’s eyes meet yours again, you both see stars with lifetimes ahead of them.

“Or else swoon to death,” he chuckles simply, out of breath, brushing your hair back from your neck and planting a kiss there, watching your pillowy, ripened breasts try to catch their breath.

"Mmm,” you sigh contentedly, as Taehyung helps you find your footing, gently setting you back down, in your place, in your resolve.

You share a long, quiet kiss that turns into spilling laughter soft like silt.

You punctuate it with the re-zipping of your jeans.

And now that one door is happily closed, you lazily mosey back over to the kitchen, noticing that the fridge, completely empty of beverages, is still open.

“Wonder what’s holding him up,” you mumble, reaching for your phone.

Yoongi (6:21 PM): Just text me when you two are done. I’m in the lobby.

Yoongi (6:22 PM): Also, is he reciting poetry?

Taehyung bites his lip at the sight of your worried, distant gaze, less staring at stars in the sky, and more seeing them circling your head after a solid punch.

He follows your gaze to the front door.

“What? Is he here?” he asks, opening it.

Hanging on the outside handle is a plastic bag.

Taehyung reaches into it and pulls out three drinks: two Arizona green teas with ginseng and honey, and one watermelon juice.

“Oh god,” you whine, covering your face.

“At least the door was closed this time,” Taehyung laughs. He looks fondly at the red can. “And I didn’t have to arm-wrestle him, either.”

December 31st is a day, too. It has a full 24 hours, not counting slight adjustments for the mathematics of Earth’s orbit, or social ministrations meant to help save something that was never society’s to “save” and just ends up leading to a bunch of missed meetings and traffic accidents.

The people around you are bumping into each other even now, drunk with laughter, glasses clinking.

But you get it.

Because you know what it’s like to be overlooked, you figure that December 31st can be celebrated in its own right. By the people who get it. The people it belongs to. It belongs to the most selfless people of the world. The ones who know the power of the small things. The ones willing to go overlooked sometimes because it makes people happy.

You know something about hiding yourself to make other people happy.

So you smile, in your backless, chocolate brown, satin gown, form-fitting but classy, straps perfectly resting in the notches at your shoulders, which are partially covered by your re-grown, long, wavy hair.

It’s nice that your apartment complex throws this New Year’s Eve party every year. Many of you are not originally from this city, but all of you have made this space your own. You don’t always talk to one another, but you understand each other. Speak the same language. Usually punctuated by rolled eyes when the super still hasn’t fixed whatever it is that needs to be fixed. Take your pick of items on the list, and you could find ten immediate friends in this hallway alone.

Then again, things are different for you during this party.

You have guests.

You nod politely as the group that has locked you in at the drink table continues their conversation. You steal a glance back at the balcony, where Yoongi, Taehyung, and Si-hyuk are already smiling at you.

Taehyung’s lip is caught between his teeth. He looks excited. So excited. Boyishly so, his eyes glimmering like the sparkles on your bodice. And when another cool breeze flows through the archway on the first floor, brushing against your bare back, you figure that’s why he’s smiling.

You chuckle.

Give them a wave with your free hand.

Shoot a funny, apologetic grimace that Yoongi’s champagne is delayed.

They wave back, as Taehyung says something.

You wonder what it is.

--

“I’m gonna tell her.”

Yoongi frowns. Si-hyuk beams. And they do it at the same time. Just as they both turn inward toward an eager Taehyung, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I’m gonna tell her right now.”

“You are?” Yoongi asks.

“You are??” Si-hyuk exclaims happily.

“Yes,” Taehyung says, so confident. “Right now.”

He steps away and starts to part the crowd for the stairs down to the first floor, where you’ve just picked up your second drink, but Yoongi follows on Taehyung’s heels, and Si-hyuk follows on Yoongi’s.

“Right now, though?” Yoongi asks, managing to grab the left side of Taehyung’s blazer vent in back.

Taehyung pouts and whips around. He had just made it to the top of the stairs. It was all downhill from here, and he can’t wait for the rush.

“You think it’s a bad idea?” Taehyung asks cautiously.

“No,” Yoongi says.

It’s a lie. A nearly convincing one.

But Si-hyuk is there. And he’s technically known Yoongi longer than you have.

“Why is it a bad idea?” Si-hyuk asks. He turns to Taehyung. “You know, this is the first time Kitt’s invited us to any sort of party… Hell… I mean… Damn, this might be the first time Kitt’s been to any sort of party that isn’t a work function,” he adds, still working his way through his reflections. And then he lands on Yoongi with a determined gaze. “Your shenanigans don’t count.”

“I want this for the two of you just as much as Si-hyuk apparently wants it,” Yoongi says.

“Why is that a surprise?” Si-hyuk asks.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says. “I’m frankly startled by your insistent tone.”

“This isn’t much different from my work voice.”

“Yeah, and it usually stays at work.” Yoongi fists Taehyung’s jacket in his hand. “Just… Look…”

And then he lets go of Taehyung altogether, before wrinkles set into the fabric.

“You know how deep she falls,” Yoongi reminds Taehyung. “Don’t say something now that you don’t intend to follow-through on for the rest of the year. She already kind of thinks December 31st is a sad day.”

“Then let me change that,” Taehyung says, grinning.

Yoongi smiles. Finally.

“OK,” he says. But then, his brows sharpen and lower. “But you know what I’m gonna say.”

“I know, I know, you’ll end me if I hurt her,” Taehyung says gleefully, waving Yoongi off as he bounces down the steps.

Taehyung doesn’t even need to look at the people he’s weaving through. Just the sight of you in the distance, getting nearer, is a guide enough. And he’s so determined to get to you that people are happy to move out of his way.

Unlike the group that has boxed you in by the drink table.

Taehyung easily remedies that, sliding through and breaking up their group with no concern. They scatter and fall away, and you laugh as he reaches for a glass of champagne behind you, wrapping his arms into your curves as he picks out just the right one.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, smiling, and lost in your gaze, as his fingers deftly maneuver through the forest of champagne glass stems. “No, not this one. Mm, not this one either. Doesn’t feel right.”

His other hand is stroking up and down your side. As if trying to… match his other hand, somehow?

His other hand finally finds a champagne flute that seems to please him. He runs his index and middle finger up that one, as his other hand slides up your side, palm opening and curving around your waist. His thumb runs just under your breast as he pulls you in close.

He brings the glass that he’s chosen to his lips, and he gives you a bit of a squeeze.

“Perfect,” he says, before taking a sip.

You laugh, and when his glass leaves his lips, you take its place.

There’s a loud smooch.

You used to hate the sound of loud smooches.

But now, you make them as often as you can.

“Having fun?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “You?”

“Yeah.” You sigh as his hand slides across your bare back and flattens against your spine, right in the center. “I’m glad we stayed home.” You laugh. “Isn’t that funny to say? Because usually it’s that I want to stay home to avoid whatever social gather—”

“Shut up, I want to tell you something,” he says, biting his lip again.

You giggle and raise your eyebrows. “OK? Uh, and, uh, so what do you want to tell me?”

“I think you know what I want to tell you,” he says. 

His eyes peer into yours, unknowingly unlocking a bit of a secret. 

That you want to tell him, too.

Taehyung takes a deep breath. 

“I want us to—”

“I love you, too, Tae!”

“—move in together.”

The embarrassment on your face. “Oh!” you exclaim. “Uh… uh… shit, fuck…”

Your vision goes blurry. You are going to pass out. Where’s Yoongi? He knows that the only thing that helps you come to is a Mi Antojo Mango con Chile candy pressed against the roof of your mouth, which you figured out the last time you were going to pass out, which was the last time you and Yoongi went for a run, which was really just you two racing back from the convenience store on the corner because you each were sure that you were way faster than the other.

You try desperately to convey this information to Taehyung before you die.

“Mango!”

“Kitt?”

“C-con chile!”

“Kitt??” Taehyung asks, holding you up, his hand still on your back.

Your grip goes limp. But, thankfully, Taehyung is good with his hands. Though some champagne spills, none of the champagne flutes break, as he quickly sticks his fingers into his, yours, and Yoongi’s drinks Warriors-bottles style, and sets them on the table.

“Are we gonna fight?” you ask, your mind jumping around as you regain your senses.

“What?” Taehyung’s face goes blank. “Fight? I-I-I mean, we don’t have to— we can talk about— Wait a second—”

His eyes widen. He leans forward. He’s so, so, so excited.

“Wait a god! Damn! Second!”

“No!” you cry out.

“What did you say!” Taehyung demands, with even more glee than he had when he bounded down the steps.

You cover your face with both of your hands, trying not to laugh as Taehyung wraps you up in his arms and presses kisses into your neck, his hands smoothing down your back and grabbing your ass unabashedly.

The group around you starts to giggle. You hear some “aw”s.

It’s unbearable.

“I didn’t mean it!” you cry out, making everyone laugh, most of all, Taehyung.

He curls your hair behind your ear. Dips you back.

“Say it again,” Taehyung whispers. Just for you.

You close your eyes. You wince.

“I’ll say it back!” he says, his voice tiny. “I promise! I just… I just wanna hear it again!”

You take a deep breath. You place your hand on his cheek.

“I love you, Tae,” you say.

His lips find yours and move to you just as easily as his eyes and body had parted the earlier crowd. And now, his tongue parts your lips, as his thumb runs down your jawline. He holds you there, your chocolate brown gown fluttering against your silky smooth legs.

Someone yells something about it only being 9:42.

People laugh.

He keeps you there, after you pull away.

“I love you, too, Kitt,” he says. “I have for a long time.”

“OK, so technically, you fell first, so, uh, I still win,” you point out quickly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’ve definitely won,” Taehyung says happily, his hand sliding down your neck and rounding your shoulder, caressing you there in circles before he gives it a squeeze, too.

He smiles again.

And, again, he says, “I love you. That’s why I want us to move in together. I love you. I love us. I love this. What we have. I love you. I want us to start making those sorts of plans. Start saving money for things. I don’t even know what kinds of things. Just things! You pick! Whatever you want! More yarn?”

“Taeeee.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Have I mentioned that I love you? Because I do.”

You firm your stance on the ground, no longer dipped, but standing on your own two feet. And then you reach up, wrapping your arms around Taehyung’s neck, and smelling sea salt and lime.

Smelling home.

“OK,” you agree. “We’re moving in together. And we love each other.” You smile and kiss again. “Had I known you were going to make my New Year this amazing, I might’ve worn something different,” you say, looking down at your gown. Yes, it’s fancy, but it doesn’t feel fancy enough. With a moment like this, you should be wearing diamonds, not just sparkles.

“But,” he tells you thoughtfully, pressing a kiss onto your cheek, “it’s still December 31st.”

You think you might cry.